


"It's Only 'til Friday" - Back on Friday: The Return

by TheWatcherObserves



Category: Death in Paradise
Genre: AO3 1 Million, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Complete, F/M, Romance, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-15
Updated: 2014-03-12
Packaged: 2018-01-12 14:14:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 12,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1188258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWatcherObserves/pseuds/TheWatcherObserves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What's different after Richard Poole returns to Saint-Marie from London? Anyone attending his 'Welcome Home' party could see it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Friday: 17:45L - La Kaz

**Author's Note:**

> Here's how Richard's "Welcome Home" party might have gone on his return from London. Leisurely next steps in the Camille Bordey/Richard Poole relationship, accomplished with a little help from some friends.

“Welcome home, Chief.” 

Richard Poole’s tirade didn’t distract Dwayne.  

Dwayne had been observing Camille all week - from that surprising goodbye kiss she laid on the Chief to her inability to sit still in _that_ dress as the minutes to Richard's return ticked by this afternoon. The Commissioner’s attempt at suspense hacked Dwayne off a bit, though - it was one thing for him to tease her but couldn't the Commissioner see Camille’s heart tangled up in Richard Poole’s?  

What was it Camille said the day the Chief left? She called him the most “ _annoying, childish, pedantic... funny.. brilliant man I’ve ever met..._ ” Sounded like a woman talking about her lover to Dwayne.

Relief arrived on schedule when his Chief grumbled and complained his way into La Kaz. Playing compassionate big brother to Camille put a serious damper on Dwayne’s own cuddling and loving opportunities - not to mention having to explain to the younger, less experienced targets of his affections that Camille was a _sisterly_ acquaintance and not a competitor. Convincing the beautiful and willing young ladies of his sincerity required serious bribes. Camille’s beauty made his "sisterly" explanation harder to sell; Dwayne owed most of next week’s pay to his cousin, the underground florist. Stealing orchids on demand wasn’t cheap but always paid off. 

Tipping his beer for a sip again, Dwayne silently cursed the baggage handlers at Heathrow and Saint-Marie airports. Thanks to the curse placed on the Chief by the airline gods, Richard Poole entered the bar ranting and raving like a lunatic using amphetamines during a full moon.  

Dwayne had hoped the old adage “Absence makes the heart grow fonder” might play out during tonight’s reunion, alleviating Dwayne’s need to encourage and console a frustrated Camille. Some cuddling and loving would serve both - station morale would certainly take a big boost.

Now, thanks to the incompetent gorillas at one or both airports, Dwayne looked forward to hours of babysitting to get these two back on solid romantic ground. 

On the positive side, no one on Saint-Marie threw a party like Catherine Bordey. Dwayne intended to quench his thirst deeply.

 


	2. Friday: 18:00L - La Kaz

A week ago Catherine Bordey slapped herself mentally for missing the signs for so long.

She’d seen it that night on the patio during the Erzulie festival. Camille’s dissatisfaction went well beyond her resistance to Catherine engineering her own grandchildren - Camille’s expression clearly communicated her disappointment that Richard wasn’t her mystery date. If that evidence alone proved inconclusive, Richard’s wistful expression as Camille approached her _real_ date would have broken any mother’s heart. 

Experienced in the glories and pitfalls of love, Catherine figured out where Camille’s heart now lived. Catherine stood in the doorway of La Kaz days earlier as Selwyn dangled the “Return to London” bait before Richard Poole. Neither Selwyn nor Richard could be easily overheard because of the team’s noisy celebration of Fidel’s sergeant’s stripes, but Camille deduced almost immediately that the conversation did not bode well for their continued co-location.  

Catherine’s confident, talented daughter fidgeted and fretted as the “Return to London” conversation continued outside her hearing. Catherine caught Richard’s flustered glances toward Camille as Richard gleaned the reality of the trip and the immediacy of his departure. London no longer drove Richard’s most secret dreams; he’d been torn and uncomfortable at leaving Camille on such short notice. Camille and Richard suddenly feared that this assignment might be a prelude to his permanent relocation to London. 

But Erzulie heard Catherine’s fervent prayers and placed the confused Englishman  (who loved her daughter but hadn’t quite realized it yet) right where Catherine’s assistance would make a difference.  

With her mission of romantic mercy firmly in mind, Catherine approached the kitchen to retrieve dinner for the party. Catherine had not waited for Camille to ask; this dinner's preparation began the day after Richard boarded a plane to London. If Camille had her heart set on this socially awkward, timid, Franco-phobic, bitingly funny, lonely genius then Catherine would apply every weapon in her motherly arsenal to secure this man for her only child.  

Richard Poole was no match for two Bordey women; he barely managed to handle one. 

“Sit, Richard!. Selwyn - are you and Carol joining us?” Catherine asked nonchalantly.

Over thirty years of friendship Selwyn Patterson had yet to withstand Catherine’s wiles and schemes. Catherine made arrangements days earlier to ensure Selwyn would join them for dinner; in a half-hour, a charity event on Antigua would introduce Carol Patterson as its Guest of Honor. Selwyn well understood the advantages to the RSMPF of a Bordey-Poole alliance.

“I am a bachelor this evening. I would hate to put you out, Catherine.” 

“Nonsense! You are always welcome. If you’ll just arrange the tables, I’ll start serving.” 

Richard wouldn’t dare leave while his boss attended the dinner.

Catherine entered the dining area carrying a huge stuffed turkey. Flying a frozen bird in from Florida had been ridiculously expensive but Selwyn insisted that if Richard Poole could be seduced into staying with a turkey then Catherine should order and serve one and send the invoice to the department. He’d been as good as his word; reimbursement had taken an hour once she’d handed him the bill. 

Rounding his chair, Catherine started the assault.  

“Richard, would you do the honors, s’il vous plait?”  

Frustration at the coming two weeks without clean trousers diverted Richard’s attention from Catherine’s artifice. If Richard loved roast beef then he adored roast turkey - a rare treasure served only at Christmas time at home in England.  

“I’ve never actually carved one before. Dad always does the honors.” Richard stuttered out as Catherine pressed the carving utensils into his hand. 

“That’s okay, Chief,” Fidel encouraged him, “this smells so good we’ll eat it anyway.” 

“Yes, Inspector, please don’t keep us all waiting. I’m sure you’ll do your normal excellent job.” the Commissioner added. Patterson’s iron-fisted order sheathed in a velvet-soft _request_ got Richard started. Slices and chunks of turkey left the bird in no time. 

In waves of trays and bowls Catherine set out mounds of roasted white and sweet potatoes, roasted carrots and leeks in meat juices, kale and collards with ham, English rarebit - a bread and cheddar cheese dish, seafood chowder in a red base, apple and cranberry sauces, fresh fruit and yorkshire pudding. A small joint of lamb with mint jelly completed the main course entrees. 

Two elegant pitchers also joined the table, containing Catherine’s pièce de résistance. Placing petite cocktail glasses beside each diner, Catherine filled each glass halfway then joined her guests at the table. 

After sampling a bit from each entree, Catherine pounced when the opportunity arrived to introduce Richard to a new sybaritic treat. Glancing at the Inspector’s empty beer bottle, Catherine made a suggestion: 

“Richard, won’t you try my refresher? I think you’ll find it to your liking.” 

“This isn’t another thinly veiled attempt to get me to drink rum, is it Catherine?” Richard challenged between heaping mouthfuls of meat and potatoes. 

“There’s no rum in this. I just thought it would be nice for you to have something cooling to drink other than water or beer.” 

A look from Camille sealed his fate; she’d never tolerate rudeness towards her mother. Gallows expression firmly in place, Richard lifted the glass, saluted Catherine as if it contained hemlock and imbibed a small sip. 

Much like his first experience with Catherine’s tea-making, Richard’s eyelids descended in gastronomic bliss as the Cherub’s Cup refresher kissed his taste buds. 

“Catherine, it’s heavenly! Absolutely fantastic! What’s in it?” he asked into the glass as he poured the remaining portion into his mouth. 

“Elderberry liqueur, stirred and sliced strawberries, a touch of sparkling wine, some lemon...” 

And gin. Generous, ample portions of Martin Miller’s Westbourne Strength Gin. 

Similar to America’s stealth killer, the Long Island Ice Tea, the Cherub’s Cup moved like an opiate through Richard’s nervous system, food in his stomach be damned. 

Catherine relaxed after Richard finished his third glass. She’d done her part; the rest of this evening’s assault was up to Camille.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The flavorfully smooth Cherub’s Cup cocktail provides some of the most wonderful anesthetic-like relaxation known to drinking men and women. Here’s a recipe from about.com:
> 
> 1 part St. Germain elderflower liqueur  
> 2 parts vodka, citrus vodka, or gin  
> 3/4 part fresh lemon juice  
> 1/4 shot simple syrup  
> 1 part muddled strawberry  
> Top with Brut Rosé Sparkling Wine  
> Strawberry for garnish
> 
> Also - Thanks to HeatherTN for correcting a terminology error. "Rabbit" (as I copied it from a recipe site) should be "rarebit". I have corrected my ignorance accordingly and beg forgiveness. And check out the rarebit recipe HeatherTN kindly left in the comments. I am, of course, still eating it regardless of what it's called; I'm not a complete git. LOL


	3. Friday: 19:05L - La Kaz

While hunting for more dark meat on the turkey platter, Fidel recognized the lovely woman and adorable child noisily exiting the cab outside La Kaz. Catherine rose, rushing to greet the woman and unburdening her of the active toddler desperately trying to escape her mother’s grasp. Selwyn handled the cab fare and escorted the ladies back to the party. 

Catherine’s party invitation fell on grateful ears. Since Rosie’s birth, Juliet’s opportunities to socialize with her husband came few and far between. Fatigue, double duty shifts in the Saint-Marie police station, sergeant’s exam study, babysitter availability and a very tight family budget shared equal blame.  

Catherine hoped social time spent with the married couple might spur Richard’s imagination. 

“Juliet! I thought you’d changed your mind. Come!” Catherine called out. 

Fidel stood so hurriedly to give his wife his seat that he knocked his chair into Dwayne’s arm, flipping Dwayne’s beer down his shirt. 

“Aiii, Boy! She married you! No need to impress her with your manners! I can’t meet my ladies tonight smelling like a brewery!” Dwayne shouted, frowning at the the embarrassed young man. 

“Dwayne! I’m - I’m sorry! Let me get you -” 

“Don’t worry, I’ll change at home. Sit! Sit! Hey Juliet -” Dwayne called as he grabbed more napkins. 

“Yubs, Dwbne?” Juliet replied around the appetizing mouthful stolen from Fidel’s plate. 

“Leave Rosie with your mother and take care of this boy tonight, eh? His brain’s working too hard. He’s going to kill me!” 

Looking for all the world like a mortified Richard Poole, Fidel hastily dragged his chair to the table and began serving a new plate for his wife and his daughter to share. 

“So, Inspector,” the Commissioner drawled, “can you tell us the outcome of your trip to London?” 

“Yes, Chief,” Dwayne jumped in, “tell us about it. There’s still a reward for the recovery of that Lintman cash, you know.” 

“I could use the reward money,” Fidel added. 

“Actually, sir,” Richard started, warming quickly to the topic of an unsolved crime, “it’s quite interesting. I’m sure you’re aware how sizable -” 

Two forceful women interrupted the men’s attempt to talk shop during the party. 

“NO!” came out dripping in French accents. 

“It’s a _party_ , not a meeting. Shame on you, Commissioner! I get little enough of Fidel’s time as it is!” Juliet complained, “At this rate, Rosie will be an only child! - ” 

“ - and I will never find a man!” Camille appended, winking at Juliet. 

“You’re looking for a boyfriend?” Richard interjected with no filter between his sotted brain and his mouth. 

“Why stop at one, Camille,” Dwayne suggested, “when you can have a man for every day of the week? Or every hour of the day!” 

Juliet playfully punched Fidel to stop his comment. Camille gave Richard a look that withered his next words unspoken. She could swear the Commissioner had a twinkle in his eye., How much “help”, Camille wondered, had her mother’s school friend provided in organizing this “party”? 

Catherine swept back into the dining room, Rosie on her hip, with a dry tea towel while Dwayne continued to dab at his shirt with the offered paper napkins to no avail. Plopping Rosie in Richard’s lap, Catherine began blotting Dwayne’s shirt with the tea towel to dry it. 

In his entire time on the island only two people had dared to kiss Richard Poole without his permission: the beautiful woman he presently hid his eyes from in embarrassment  and the impish toddler standing in his lap. Hugging Richard tightly, Rosie smothered him in baby kisses while the partygoers laughed at Richard’s expense.  

Richard, to everyone’s but Rosie’s surprise, rubbed her little cheeks with his own and smiled affectionately at her. Camille gazed at him in pleasant surprise, her thoughts barely disguised from the experienced parents at the table. 

“Don’t you have another shirt at the station?” Fidel asked, hoping to redeem himself and disturbing Camille’s private daydream concerning Richard. 

“No. Darlene’s doing my laundry. I pick it up at her place tomorrow. Night.” Dwayne leered as he nodded “Thanks” to Catherine.  

Rosie, meanwhile, smashed handfuls of potatoes and English rarebit into Richard’s face, the excess food landing on the cloth napkin bravely protecting Richard’s only suit on Saint-Marie. Camille chuckled at his awkward attempts to stop the baby from sharing her food with him. His _Save my suit - Please!_ expression met Camille’s _She’s having fun, Uncle Richard - Relax!_ response. 

When Camille’s expression changed, Richard recognized the arrival of an idea. 

“Dwayne - don’t go yet! Give me a minute?” Camille shouted over her shoulder as she made her way to the stairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still working through the interplay for these two contentious lovers so this chapter might change a bit after publication. Hope you enjoy!


	4. Friday: 19:25L - La Kaz

Bouncing up from the table, Camille whispered into Catherine’s ear on her way to the stairs then both left the dining room for the upstairs living quarters. Catherine returned first, lifting the toddler from Richard’s lap, and regained her seat.

Ten minutes later Camille’s footsteps echoed down the stairs. She dropped a cabinet-drawer-sized storage box behind the bar, disappearing as she bent to retrieve something from it.

From behind the bar Camille tossed an expensive men’s shirt to Dwayne, careful not to disturb the replacement beer in his hand.

“What’s this? You hidin’ a boy-toy up there, Camille?”

No one missed Richard’s reaction except Camille whose position near the bar obscured his face from her view.

“No. I remembered some items stored away a long time ago. Be happy and change your shirt.”

“Thanks! I’m keepin’ this one. That’s my girl Camille! Always on top of things,” Dwayne complimented as he ducked into the facilities to change.

“That she is. Best partner I’ve ever had. Camille’s fantastic. Quite a stunner,” Richard contributed, alternating forkfuls of lamb and turkey with carrots, leeks and Cherub’s Cup refills from his almost empty personal pitcher.

Responses to Richard's observations varied:

Rosie clapped her food-covered little hands and repeated her Uncle Richard’s declaration modified by the extended family add-on: “Aunt Cami fantic!”

Fidel searched Juliet’s face to gauge her reaction before his slow smile mirrored that from his wife. Juliet often provided the play-by-play analysis for Fidel in the confusing sport of Richard-and-Camille watching. Fidel, an apt student in most subjects, recognized the result of the Chief’s return, a sumptuous meal of his favorite foods, Catherine’s “refreshing” punch and the truth: the Chief and the Sergeant were in love. Juliet confirmed Fidel’s conclusion with her _See what I mean_? grin.

Dwayne, still buttoning his new shirt as he left the loo, sighed in relief. Richard’s declaration marked the first sign that he would relieve Dwayne of responsibility for assisting Erzulie with these two. Eyes lifted heavenward, Dwayne let the single word _Finally!_ drift upward as an unspoken prayer.

Catherine noted privately that only one pitcher of her Cherub’s Cup truth serum, enthusiastically consumed by Richard, overcame his usual British reserve. Moving adroitly, Catherine retrieved the empty pitcher and replaced it with an identical one of fresh-squeezed lemonade. The tonic had served its purpose; it wouldn’t do to incapacitate Richard before his private reunion with Camille later this evening. Sipping her cocktail, Catherine sent a prayer to the saints for a massive contraceptive failure this weekend. _Richard will be a wonderful father to my grand-children - with Camille’s help_.

Selwyn Patterson sent a covert wink in Catherine’s direction. Catherine, clever woman that she was, found the “cocktail pry bar” necessary to open up the emotionally repressed Chief of Police. Selwyn understood Poole’s unexpected attachment to his team and especially to Camille Bordey. Contemplating their next steps brought up the issue of housing - they'd need a bigger place than the beach shack.  _I think Inspector Poole will be selling his place in London now._ Hopefully Camille and the Chief of Police would spend some quality time violating the fraternization rules. Talent of Richard Poole’s and Camille Bordey’s quality didn’t arrive on small tropical islands every day.

Juliet found Camille’s gaze. The women often spent time discussing their respective man issues. Fidel reminded Camille of Richard in more than one way. A nod from Juliet communicating _Go get him, girlfriend_! answered Camille’s raised eyebrows.

Camille studied Richard after his soliloquy. She’d consumed more of the punch than he had - but she grew up drinking rum where Richard grew up sipping tea. Cherub’s Cup won the match over Richard’s English-ness. Juliet’s nod confirmed Camille’s conclusion.

Tonight would be... interesting.


	5. Friday: 20:30L - The Streets of Honorè

The Commissioner excused himself from the festivities first, blaming an early morning meeting with the head of tourism and the need to be rested when he picked up his wife from the ferry after her two-week absence. Carefully packing his own leftovers and a fine bottle of wine in his goodie bag, he bid the other guests adieu, kissed Catherine lightly on the cheek (while giving her hand a conspiratorial squeeze) and stepped into the twilight.

Dwayne quickly followed after receiving a call cementing his line-up of impatient beauties. His first beauty expected him in 20 minutes. After a quick kiss to Catherine with a wink and a nod at the almost-couple, Dwayne sent thanks to Camille for the shirt and entered the streets of Honorè.

Fidel held his sleeping daughter against his shoulder as he collected the family’s toddler support bags containing toys, snacks, training pants and spare clothes. Camille assisted him, distributing foil-wrapped leftovers amongst the toddler bags. 

Richard had the wherewithal to collect a drowsy Rosie from Fidel as Fidel collected the bags and the men led the small group towards a waiting cab. Trailing them, the women initiated a quiet discussion, their laughter causing the men to turn with identical expressions of consternation. 

 

“Do you know what they’re discussing, sir?”

“No idea, Fidel. It’s been a wonderful evening - I don’t want to know.”

“Understood, sir. I’ll take Rosie...”

 

Richard carefully transferred the child to her father and stepped back onto the sidewalk as the family entered the cab. With a wave from Richard and Camille, the Best family left for home. 

Catherine’s joined them from the doorway of the restaurant.

 

“Richard, I’ve called a cab for you and Camille.”

“Thanks, but I’m fine to drive, Catherine.”

“Richard, you flew nine hours today. You'd have been in bed hours ago in London,” Camille pleaded, “It’s been an exhausting week for both of us. Let’s share a cab; I can drop you off at the shack then go home. Plus I have something for you to take with you. Please?”

 

Soft, milk chocolate irises melted what little resolve Richard mustered.

 

“If you’re, um, really tired I suppose we could do it your way. But we’ll go to your place first.”

 

Camille laid a look on Richard that softened his spine, causing his breathing to come in uneven spurts - she suspected Richard was up to something she'd enjoy. Richard's real intent was to prevent any harrassment of his DS by late-night Lotharios.

Frozen to the spot by that **very** French seductive stare of hers, he made no effort to help Camille with the leftovers bags or the box she grabbed from behind the bar until she sent a double eyebrow flick his way. Her expression change to annoyed restarted the gentlemanly portion of his brain. Taking her parcels from her, Richard thanked Catherine for the welcome home party.

Catherine’s kiss to his cheek raised a flush when he absorbed her whispered words - 

 

“Take care of my little girl, Richard.”

 

Stunned, Richard forgot to look away as a tear rolled down Catherine’s cheek. Once again, he agonized that he’d missed something profound but the arrival of the cab and Camille’s farewell to her mother snatched his attention away.

Catherine secured the restaurant, leaving trusted regulars to settle their tabs and lock up the bar. Before leaving, Catherine made a call to place a regular order with a dairy in Jamaica for cow’s milk and heavy cream. She requested they freeze both before shipping; frozen would last weeks rather than days. Catherine would defrost and mix the two to get the correct consistency.

 

Richard deserved to have his tea as he preferred it.


	6. Friday: 21:15L - Camille’s Front Garden

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the episode “Death Onboard,” Camille and her murdered friend are said to be “school friends”. 
> 
> Early in the murder investigation the victim, Aimee Fredricks, is described by Richard Poole as being 23 years old. This makes the greatest *practical* age span between Camille and Aimee (Reception - Year Six) 7 years. Aimee’s character makes the joke that she and Camille should not continue drinking because “it’s a school night.”
> 
> As it is unlikely that a budding adolescent would become long-term friends with a Reception student, I have intentionally pegged Camille’s age at 27 based on this information. This means that the age span between Richard and Camille (42 to 27) is 15 years in this and my other stories.
> 
> UPDATE: After some beneficial discussion with other writers considering this "age gap" in their stories, I am revising Camille's age to 30 with a Richard-Camille gap of 12 years instead of 15.
> 
> This adjustment is supported by the episode "Murder on the Plantation" where Camille explains to Richard that Catherine's blind date obsession relates to her concerns about Camille's biological clock. Biological clock issues are more for women in their 30's than those in their 20's. 
> 
> This change has no impact on this story or my writings to date but may drive plot lines relating to the spacing of children in stories yet to be authored.
> 
> UPDATE: I need another year from Camille in the story "Mountain Storm" therefore I will once again take artistic license and peg Camille at (early) 29 not 30.
> 
> If this upsets anyone, send me a comment or sue me.

* * *

 “Camille, for Heaven's sake, will you for once not argue with me?”

“But we agreed you’d keep the cab. Just take the box -”

“No. I’ll get a cab later. I need to see you safely in.”

Balancing the box on his thigh, Richard reached a hand into his pocket and emerged with a fistful of coins. The driver removed more than the necessary amount from Richard’s palm, tipped his hat and drove into the cloudless night.

Camille stood in silhouette in her doorway, huffing at Richard’s perpetual inability to pay the correct fare for a taxi on Saint-Marie. 

“Are you coming?”

Another impatient exhalation came his way.

“This box is unwieldy!”

“Don’t be such a baby, Richard.”

Closing the distance between them, Camille snatched the box from him and beat him back into her house.

“Come on, you’re not that old. Move that body!”

 _I am that old, Camille..._  Richard lamented. 

At Camille’s insistence he’d been working out for the last year; nonetheless, his fitness level had been a significant part of the SOCA planning in London. Getting back to Saint-Marie meant agreeing to a change of habits, patterns and schedules. 

The conjunction of SOCA, the Lintman Investment fraud and Saint-Marie’s strategic location on organized crime’s opportunity map had Richard feeling very old in a world-weary way.


	7. Friday: 21:35L - Camille’s House

“Have a seat. I have beer, some fruit juice and water. I may have some wine -” 

 

Richard’s grunts on “beer” and “wine” told Camille juice was the best choice. She placed the bags of leftovers on the counter and made quick work of unpacking her bag onto the lower shelves of her fridge. 

 The champagne in the leftover bag got her attention: [Bollinger](http://www.expensivechampagne.org/bollinger-champagne/) Blanc de Noirs Vieilles Vignes Francaises 1997. Camille detached the envelope from the bottle string and unsheathed the card inside.

 

“ _Camille,_

_When you were born, your pa-pa and I thought it would be fun to get a bottle of champagne to give to you on your wedding day. When a few magnums of this vintage became available many years ago when you were younger, I thought it would be perfect for you._

_It is full of strawberry parfait flavors with a caramel undertone._

_After watching Richard with the Cherub’s Cup refresher, I know he likes strawberry flavors. This is a good match for his palate - as are you. Totally delicious._  

_Tonight will be special for you both. Enjoy with my blessings._

_Je t’aime,_  

 _Maman_ ” 

Camille made room to place the champagne on its side in her fridge, smiling through her tears. She wouldn’t open this yet; Richard’s tolerance for alcohol consumption didn’t approach hers and she needed an alert Richard Poole.

Folding Richard’s doggie bag tightly over itself, Camille made space on the main shelf by removing the pitcher of juice. Pouring a large tumbler of juice for Richard, Camille switched off the light and returned to the living area. Richard accepted the tumbler with thanks, swigging down gulpsful without a breath.

 

“It’s Maman's refresher; the alcohol is making you thirsty. Can I get you some water?”

“No, thank you, Didn’t think I had that much refresher. Great flavor, like fresh strawberry jam.”

 

Camille silently applauded her mother’s mixology skills. 

 

Richard had consumed an entire pitcher without noticing.


	8. Friday: 21:50L - Camille's House

“So. How hard was it to drag yourself back to Saint-Marie?”

 

The light tone Camille aimed for wasn’t completely achieved.  Richard, comfortably perched on the couch with the mysterious box between them,  missed the unspoken message in her tone.

 

“Not hard at all, actually. There’s more crime in London but I wouldn’t get to work every aspect of the investigation there like I do - we do - here. Take Malcolm Powell’s murder; I haven’t used that wart creme trick since university. Been more productive -”

“Oh! So _you’ve_ been productive. I guess the rest of us -”

“Camille, as much as I’ve missed your witty ripostes, I don’t want to argue with you tonight.”

 

The simple statement held more meaning; Richard wouldn’t meet her eyes with his own - his poker tell that something emotional lay behind those words.

 

“I don’t want to argue either, chér.”

 

 _Oh Bon Dieu! Where did that come from!?_ Camille thought in a panic.

She stiffened, anticipating Richard’s hasty exit, but he remained seated.

 

“I spent most of my time in London with SOCA. I like the way they work - more results driven and less ‘Who’s your chum?’, you know?”

 

Camille relaxed and listened attentively as he spoke.

 

“SOCA thinks that Vicky Woodward went after the charity money because she needed seed money to go after Powell’s stash. Question is - why kill him? Why was Powell expendable? Powell absconded with almost $80 million pounds. It’s a puzzle.” 

“So what did she tell you about her attempts to find the money while Malcolm Powell was on trial?”

 

Leave it to Camille to ask the same question SOCA had asked him. Her intellect had always attracted him - after she boxed his ears for disrespecting it.

 

“That’s the logical direction to follow. Powell moved enormous sums around during the life of the fraud - somewhere between $350 and $375 million pounds just in the last three years of the scam.”

 

The sound of juice swallowing filled the quiet.

 

“I’m sure SOCA will run it all to ground, as they say.” he concluded, relieved that he hadn’t ruined his security clearance or the evening by discussing SOCA-classified information. 

“I’m surprised you weren’t invited to help SOCA ‘follow the money’. You’re a gifted forensic investigator. Look at what you’ve done here.”

 

Richard couldn't help staring at her; no one had ever paid him a higher compliment. What to do or say after such a personal - intimate, really - compliment eluded him so thoroughly that he sat like a statue as she scooted towards him. The mystery box blocked her path; she placed it on the floor near his feet.  

When he realized she meant to take his hand, he brazenly moved his toward hers - courtesy of the Cherub’s Cup instant spine and confidence generator - but not entirely because of it.

Everything would change after this weekend.  

On the basis of his test score, he was now a Detective Chief Inspector - he’d passed with high honors. SOCA and Interpol training would consume his evenings and weekends on Saint-Marie until the task force started. His SOCA handler - who Richard predicted Camille would take an _immediate_ dislike to if they met - would arrive within a fortnight. 

And Richard could share none of this with Camille. 

London decided him; he’d let no other man claim her unless she wanted them to. Reflection on his sentiments since the Erzulie festival made his next decision inevitable: his hand met hers _more_ than half-way. When Richard's hand came forward, Camille grinned and grabbed it before he came to his senses.

 

“It’s SOCA’s loss. Did you have any fun while you were there?” 

“Had dinner with my parents. They’re getting on; seemed so much older than I expected. 

“You were right to make me call my dad after the storm.”

 

Camille spoke into the silence.

 

“I came home from Paris on a stretcher in a medical transport. It was hard on Maman, nursing me to back to health then watching me return to police work. I love deep cover work but I think, right now, I’m glad I can see her every day.” 

“My mum said effectively the same thing. She never thought about it until the hurricane. I promised her I’d call once a week and talk to them both.” 

“What did your father say?”

 

Richard hesitated.  

 

Richard’s father publicly acknowledged his son’s prominent place in the case, frequently citing the published news articles on the Powell murder and the investment fraud. Richard’s joy was tempered with some discomfort. He understood his father’s world view but he’d never collided with it before. The “prick bastard Powell” selected Saint-Marie, in Henry Poole’s opinion, because the "backwater locals" wouldn’t find money stolen from hard-working Brits. In his rants, Henry overlooked SOCA’s inability to locate the money. 

Proximity forced Richard to examine what his father’s opinion would be of Richard’s breathtaking Afro-French partner and her role in Richard’s professional success and personal life. If Richard’s fantasy life with Camille materialized, would his father consider their children “Pooles”? Henry Poole wasn’t a loutish man, just an insensitive one - even to his son. 

Richard owned up to the damage that casual, everyday bigotry caused. So similar to bullying and yet he’d missed it. In his own way, Richard had behaved as badly as his father -  he owed the Bordeys an apology.

 

“Actually, my dad’s been ‘spreading my rep around’, as the young people say. Quite surprised me." 

“Did you visit Croydon or your old squad?” she asked almost rhetorically. 

“Nah. Doug Anerson’s still got mates in the station. 

“And what about you, Sergeant Bordey? Did criminals run amok with the Chief of Police in London?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UPDATE 28Mar14: To reflect canon that while Lintman Investments was investigated, Powell was found innocent. Poole says he "escaped prosecution". I am choosing to interpret that as he slipped through the evidentiary part of the British justice system.


	9. Friday: 22:05L - Camille’s Living Area

“Hardly. There were a few more police brutality complaints.”

 

Richard transitioned to rant mode.

 

“I’ve warned Dwayne repeatedly! He can’t use strong arm tactics with witnesses and suspected perpetrators! I cannot and **will not** defend use of excessive force in this department. How many complaints were there?”

 “Eleven...” 

“ELEVEN!? Did Dwayne break up a major drug ring!? Where was Fidel?!?” 

“Only one of the complaints is against Dwayne...”

 

Richard’s brain missed her update.

 

“Couldn’t be Fidel. He’s got a better nob on his neck than that. I thought he could temper Dwayne’s enthusiasm in the field -” 

“Richard, ten complaints were filed against me...”

 

That brought Richard to a halt. Eyes wide with shock and puzzlement, Richard ratcheted up the chastisement.

 

“Detective Sergeant Bordey - I left this island for **six days** and you received **eleven** complaints!? As the senior officer in charge WHAT in the BLOODY HELL were you DOING!?”

“ Ten. Ten complaints were mine.”

“Don’t make light of this, Camille; this is SERIOUS.”

“I worked a lot of shifts. We had twelve cruise ships dock this week instead of the usual six. There must have been a pickpockets’ convention somewhere on Saint-Marie because they were everywhere. They all tried - and failed - to overpower me because I’m a woman.”

“Why were you working alone!? Department policy requires -”

“RICHARD! Think! You were gone and even when you’re here, you don’t do patrols. You’re the Chief of Police.”

 

Richard stared at Camille, unable to reconcile what he saw with what he heard.

 

“What happened, Detective Sergeant?”

 

Camille’s rising  anger added the final compliment to the evening. Richard was truly home.

 

“Eight were resisting arrest. One I stopped a domestic assault in progress.”

“And the last one, Detective Sergeant?”

 

She mumbled an answer. Suddenly Camille seemed uncomfortable.

 

“I’m sorry, could you speak up? What happened with the last one?”

“He assaulted me in a private place.”

“Where!? La Kaz? Here!?”

“No. A _private_ place...”

 

Richard smoothed a hand over his face reasoning out what private place...

 

“Someone GROPED YOU!? WHERE!?”

“In the market.”

“That’s NOT WHAT I MEANT, Camille!!”

“I know. Richard, I dealt with it. He’s waiting in the cells for transfer to Guadeloupe.”

 

Camille volunteered no additional details and Richard decided ignorance was bliss on this topic - especially with the offending party sitting a few minutes walk away from a sound thrashing by Richard. 

Camille could handle herself (and handle Richard, if it came to it) but the only other persons allowed to _handle_ Camille, in Richard’s mind, were her doctors, family, friends and himself.

That still left nine potentially damaging accusations against his detective sergeant and closest friend.

 

“Would you like to explain to your superior why my best officer may be hauled up before a Disciplinary Review Board?”

“I missed you.”

 

Of all the responses Richard expected, that answer confused and pleased him the most. 

 

“You were in London and I was lonely. I tried to keep busy.”

“I don’t know what to say...”

“Think about it and get back to me. I have a ‘Welcome Home’ present for you.”

 

Richard kicked himself. He couldn’t decide what to bring her from London (and wasn’t sure she’d want anything remotely _English_ ) so he hadn’t brought her a present.

Camille read him like a book. She delivered her intentions while he finished his juice.

 

“It’s okay, Richard. I’ll select my own present when you take me to England.”

 

He nearly choked on the liquid in the tumbler.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter traces its roots to the S2E8 scenes after Richard leaves. First we see Fidel on the streets in his new sergeant's stripes being admired and congratulated by the locals. Then we see Dwayne getting and giving some attention - and a "free" pineapple - to an admirer for which he receives a chaste kiss.
> 
> Finally we see Camille bounce a perp's head off the bonnet of the Rover as she handcuffs him. 
> 
> Richard's absence is having an effect on her normal restraint.
> 
> (Although I did enjoy her handling of the arrest LOL)


	10. Friday: 22:40L - Camille’s Couch

Camille unfolded her long legs from the couch and retrieved the box they’d lugged from La Kaz, laughing at his discomfiture for not the first time. Dropping it in his lap she gave him the okay with a head bob to open the box.

Lifting the top like the box contained a bomb with a motion sensor detonator, Richard stared in bewilderment at the contents. His hands carefully removed the first item for scrutiny and found it perfect in quality and perfect for him.

 

“They were my father’s. You have similar measurements.”

 

Quiet never suited Camille, at least not in Poole’s interactions with her over the last not quite three years. Her silence touched him.

 

“They’re top shelf, Camille. I’m.. I’m not sure I should take these...”

“What good will they serve in storage? Besides - I’m not coming near you if you wear that suit for two straight weeks.”

 

Camille’s father had impeccable taste; the suits were all hand-stitched. Consistent trouser pleats lay perfectly flat before him, even as Richard moved the material - a sure sign of superior workmanship. Richard emptied four suits from the box: three tailored with ”tropical wool”, (ensuring less wrinkling and perspiring than Richard’s English woolen suits) and a fourth made of 100% cotton. Sweltering at the station might be a thing of the past. Tailored khaki trousers and a traditional blue blazer completed the inventory.

 

“Have you tried to give these back to him? These are very high quality, Camille. Wouldn’t he want them?”

“He wouldn’t _dare_ ask Maman or me for them.”

“Camille, how do you feel about this? I... Is this all you have from your father?”

“No; I have other mementos. But even if the suits were all I had, I would want a good man to have them and _wear_ them.”

“What about Catherine? How will she feel seeing me in these every day?”

“Maman grieved for her marriage a long time ago. She had to keep a roof over our heads, run a business and raise a daughter. She packed up ten years of life, shoved it in a closet and continued living... for me.

“It will do us both good to see these as clothes not memories. And you need them, Richard.”

“Thank you for the suits. They’re perfect. I’ll get to the tailor on Monday.”

 

Camille’s patented snap-point came his way.

 

“I don’t trust you. Try them on here. Start with the blue one. Use my bedroom. Now.”

 

Richard dutifully disentangled the first suit from the pile on the couch and retreated to her bedroom - after kissing her forehead.

Her instincts were spot on; the suits fit well. The jackets would require slight trimming but he could wear any of them on Monday if his luggage remained MIA. Camille’s resolve to move at his pace got sorely tested as he paraded in front of her in well-made clothing. 

Richard admitted to her that the suits boosted his confidence, although he confessed utter bewilderment as to why this would be the case in her living area. He needn’t have told her - she witnessed it first hand. “Certified Genius” radiated off of him. Camille forced herself to remain seated and not entice him.

 

“That is a cherry on the top. Now go try on the khakis and the blazer.”

“These all fit and were tailored from the same measurements. Can’t I just assume -”

“No, you can’t. Go! I want to spend time with you,” - mostly making love to him - “not being teased by this fashion show.”

 

To her shock and amusement, Richard struck a series of runway poses. 

Her laughing fit nearly defeated his efforts to kiss her forehead once more in thanks.

 

 


	11. Friday: 23:00L - Camille's Bedroom

“Richard! What is taking you so long!?”

 

Without waiting for a reply, Camille charged into her bedroom to hurry Richard into the khakis. She was rewarded with a full frontal view of an unselfconscious Richard exiting the loo in his boxers.

Head down in concentration while fumbling unsuccessfully to restore himself _inside_ said boxers, he didn’t notice her. His recognition of her ogling thoroughly defeated his efforts. The more he struggled with his fly, the more satisfying Camille's view got. Camille’s grin turned most of Richard’s visible skin a rosy red

Richard’s physique exceeded Camille’s fantasized expectations. More torso than legs, Camille grinned at his sparsely-haired chest with toned mid-section. Running with her in sand (in his thick black flannel Met police sweats) had tightened his calves and thighs. 

His nether parts had been a private speculation for her. Camille briefly glimpsed Richard's “waking” state on the morning after the murder of Sister Therese - not enough to draw any accurate conclusions, though. 

Her lascivious leer widened appreciatively as her eyes traced his legs upward to his exposed parts. Clearly Richard was pleased to be with her. The women who let him escape without a second look seriously missed out.

 

 _Mon Dieu!_ Camille thought, _Impressive!_

 

“You are so _cute_!”

“ **Cute**!? I’m _exposed_! Camille, could you **please** give me some privacy?” he pleaded, nerves preventing his shaking hands from putting his personal genie back in its bottle. 

“Are you asking me to leave _my_ bedroom?” Camille shot back at him with amusement.

 

The look in her eyes terrified him. She had him at a decided disadvantage as he had no response to her frank assessment of his "package". The plight of the seafood on display at the market brought a kind of empathy for food with eyes to his unsettled thoughts. 

A moment later Richard went catatonic - Camille was closing the distance between them with a walk that sparked every nerve in his body.

 

“Richard...”

 

Camille snaked her arms around his waist, leaned in and kissed him lightly.

 

“You kissed me.”

"Excellent observation, Inspector." came back through the sensuous chuckle.

 

Very soon Richard would be consumed by SOCA obligations and unavailable to pursue the leisurely trajectory of their relationship so far. They could lose a year together - or more - to his assignment. He had to know if Camille wanted him the way he wanted her.  

 

"Why?" 

“I missed you.” she purred at him.

 

Snugging even closer Camille kissed him again, pressing their lips tighter together; not breaking the kiss until Richard responded. Her body trapped his exposed parts between them, complicating Richard's ability to process the sensations and emotions moving through him.

 

“Camille, why did you kiss me?” 

“I’m glad you’re back. I was afraid you’d stay in London.”

 

Encircling his neck with her arms, Camille kissed him again. Her lips parted, her tongue lightly outlining his lips inside the kiss. Richard’s hands found her hips, using gentle pressure to bring her closer.

 

“Is that the only reason - that you thought I wasn’t coming back?”

 

Richard kept her close, noting her response. She had no misunderstanding of her effect on him but he needed her to understand there was more to what he felt; there had always been more. 

 

“You're the genius detective - figure it out, Richard.”

 

Camille pressed herself against him and kissed him, her tongue teasing his lips open and finding his tongue. His knees wavered: he’d always been too self-conscious to tongue kiss a woman before. Her hips rolled, languidly grinding into him but it was Camille who moaned with desire. When Richard broke the kiss, she whimpered in protest.

 

“What if this doesn't work? The island’s too small to avoid each other. I’d have to leave.”

 

Camille kissed him. Without volition his arms encircled her waist, pinning her tighter against him. His hand found her hair, combing the soft curls with splayed fingers. When she softened in his arms he broke the kiss.

With the Cherub's Cup receding from his brain self-doubt plagued him, a familiar companion; despite his earlier resolve, Richard's head sounded a retreat to give her a graceful way out .

 

“I pretty well left the, um, roadway where dating is concerned 18 years ago... I know you love your work, but you’re going to want a husband, children... I’m not a top candidate for that, am I?”

“Are your sterile, Richard?”

"No! I mean - I don’t think so. I don’t know, really.”

 “Then you _are_ a top candidate _\- the only candidate.”_

 _“_ You’re smart and capable and beautiful. Men ask you out while you’re _arresting_ them. I would expect to be a one-off for you”

“You are brilliant and sweet and pompous and annoying and funny and this is _not_ a one-off!”

“I’m still a man, Camille. When you leave - as I would absolutely expect you to when you come to your senses - I couldn’t abide the idea of you with someone else. That would be murder... Seeing you with another man...”

 

Camille struggled to keep him in her arms as self-doubt drove him to run from her and make his escape from her house. To keep from hurting her he stopped fighting her tight embrace.

 

“Richard - you are special to me. And though I know it’s difficult for you to say so, I think I am special to you as well. Am I correct?”

 

“God, yes Camille!” he groaned, burying his face in her neck.

 

Words staggered out of Richard’s mouth.

 

“I’m not good with... romance, you know. I understand how it works... Read some books about it... I had a girlfriend at university... What I'm saying is you’ll have to be patient. I want to make you happy, to-to-to _please_ you.”

 

But for her inscrutable smile, Richard had no idea what Camille had in mind which, given her alluring nature, spooked him further.

 

“We probably need to, you know, work out the details. We don’t want to jeopardize our, uh, working relationship.”

 

His concentration disintegrated little by little as Camille landed kisses and touches in seemingly random locations, all very stimulating and very distracting.

 

“I agree. We have all night to discuss it.”

“All night?!?”

 

Camille pulled away to get a good look at him. Bashfulness betrayed him in flushed skin and averted eyes.

 

“You have made love to a woman, Richard, n'est-ce pas?”

“Yes! Of course I have! Why would you ask that!?”

“Then what’’s bothering you?”

 

Silence greeted her query. Camille encouraged him again, very softly.

 

“Richard?”

“I’ve never spent the entire night in bed with... with... anyone.”

 

The obligation to be conversational, to engage in romantic banter, to express his honest feelings towards her shook what remaining courage he had until it surrendered. 

Extending her hand, Camille coaxed him into the bed and out of his boxers. Her bedroom seemed cooler, more comfortable, than his bedroom at the beach shack, with a refreshing breeze that almost raised goosebumps on his naked skin; that could also, he thought, be embarrassment at his 42-year-old pasty white body. Camille, however, seemed pleased at their progress

Rounding the bed to her usual side, she disrobed to her lingerie (selected in anticipation of this moment), hit the “PLAY” button on her stereo, switched off the lights and climbed into his arms.

 

“Good. I’ll be your first. And we won't be in bed for _everything_ , chér.”


	12. Saturday: 00:10L - Camille's Bed

First, they slept.

Strenuous efforts over the prior week caused fatigue in both. Entangled in each other, head to foot, relaxation overcame arousal. 

For a time.

Richard woke first, his acute hearing recognizing a favorite Nat King Cole melody sung by someone not Nat. Blinking to clear sleep from his eyes, his pupils adjusted to the moonlit dark in her bedroom.

 _Her_ bedroom. Camille lay sprawled across him.

Richard smiled at the role reversal in their bed status: Here he lay visibly naked - and aroused - while Camille wore a lingerie set that kept him “up” throughout his nap. A fully awake and sober Richard studied Camille like a murder scene.

 

 _Good God, Poole!_ he chastised himself, _Don’t be so ghoulish!_

 

Sheepishly, he silently admitted that - as a group - women undid him. Secret voyeurism led to embarrassing incidents on two islands separated by distance, climate and culture. Most recently these occurred in front of the woman who unnerved him the most - Camille Bordey. On their first case together he’d gotten a gander at her unending legs in those shorts and lost his composure. Fortunately she hadn’t caught him looking... that time.

If he’d had the courage he’d have disabused her of her self-consciousness about her breasts. Not a day passed without his attention to those wonderful, pert orbs of flesh just peeking out of the light-weight sleeveless blouses she wore in the island heat. 

He’d grown increasingly nervous that Camille would catch him ogling _her_ so he redirected his attentions to other women. Since the LeClerq treasure hunters murders, she’d been more irritated and less amused at this alternative; smart as she was, Richard questioned why she didn’t recognize the ogling as his coping mechanism. Bosses who got caught ogling their employees got transferred - involuntarily.

Not since his art classes at university had Richard seen such striking beauty as Camille’s. Visually trailing her shape in the moonlight from her Raphaelite neck to her gently rolling spine, across her lovely bottom and down to those dangerously interminable legs, Richard thought again about the concept of perfection and decided that maybe it did exist.

 

Richard ached with desire for her. But not at the risk of their friendship. 

 

Too soon he would be consumed by SOCA and unavailable to her. Whatever did - or _didn’t_ \- happen tonight he wouldn’t allow to damage their friendship. He cherished that more than sex with her; that, in his mind, said a great deal about his attachment to her. The only human best friend he’d ever had lay sleeping in his arms.

 

“I’m not asleep, Richard.”

 

Or not sleeping.

 

“Aren’t you uncomfortable?”

 

Richard’s brow knitted, lost once again to her quicksilver thinking.

With a chuckle, Camille ran a finger down his cheek and neck, across his chest - ringing his nipples until he groaned, through the downy fuzz running southward over his navel and stopped just before the stalk anchored in the light brunette mass of hair between his thighs.

 

“You know, Richard, if that’s bothering you I’m happy to help.”

 

 _She’ll be hacked off at me if I say what I’m thinking_ , he thought.

That thought had no impact on his next statement.

 

“Camille, this is moving quite... quickly, don’t you think? We barely know each other personally. We’ve talked some, which I’ve enjoyed apart from that unpredictable temper of yours, but not about ourselves. 

“We might find out too late that we don’t actually want to be together. I wouldn’t have a best friend anymore.”

 

Camille Bordey had considered the same issues over a year ago, when Richard placed his hands a bit low on her hips while almost dancing with her at a local musician’s wake; she’d nearly melted into him. 

Peeling back Richard Poole’s emotional armor required a plan and Camille implemented one. Day by day she poked her subject with questions and provocative comments to learn more.

Brilliant though he was, catching up had taken a _loooong_ while for Richard. Fortunately, Camille had prepared for that eventuality as well.


	13. Saturday: 01:10L - Camille's Bedroom

Camille untangled herself from Richard and got up.

 

In the semi-darkness he could just make out her movements around the room. The music changed - same singer but different songs. Camille disappeared into her loo but returned still clothed in lingerie. Richard hid his disappointment at that; he’d rather hoped she’d come flying out of the facilities naked and overpower him. A slow sigh escaped him to be followed by a quick intake of breath as she approached his side of the bed.

 

“Come, chér”

 

His boxers hung from a finger of her extended hand.

Richard stared at the boxers and at Camille. This behavior was definitely unexpected. Maybe she agreed with him about their pace. At the moment Richard wished he hadn’t been quite so persuasive. Sliding back into his boxers he sensed the opportunity to make love to her dissipating with his receding tumescence. 

 

“Come.”

 

Thoroughly confused he acceded to her wishes and found himself in her arms - dancing. Classic standards from the 40’s and 50’s floated by. Thankfully for Richard, Camille didn’t demand much from him, just that he continue to hold her close and sway in something approximating the rhythm in the song. As he relaxed his arousal returned.

 

“I disagree that we barely know each other, Richard.”

“I hope that statement isn’t a prelude to an argument.”

“No -,” Camille chuckled, “but I do think you’re wrong.”

 

Her head lay on his chest near his shoulder. In a ridiculously chauvinistic manner he was pleased to be taller than Camille. It would facilitate dancing and making love, not to mention its benefit to his male ego.

 

“What have you discovered about the victim, Detective Sergeant Bordey?”

“Victim? Have you been damaged or hurt in any way by knowing me?”

“Yes. My heart and a good portion of my reason have been slaughtered by your feminine wiles.”

 

He felt warm lips kissing his neck and jawline.  

 

“Since you put it that way, I would say that you are someone who has been badly treated too often. You empathize with the true victims in the crimes you solve. Like Benjamin Sammy. You knew he loved Saint-Marie’s rain forests and you protected them even though you hate being assigned here.”

 

Billy Strayhorn’s masterpiece “Lush Life” colored the atmosphere. Sitting in his closet at boarding school Richard had listened to Sarah Vaughn’s version on cassette, hiding to keep the bullies from destroying yet another gift from his parents.

 _“Life is lonely again and only last year_  
 _Everything seemed so sure_  
 _Now life is awful again_  
 _A trough full of hearts could only be a bore..._ ”

 

“You've haven't spoken about her, but whoever the woman was who broke your heart she ruined your confidence.

“If I ever meet her I think I’ll kill her and hide the body. Trust me, Richard, you’ll never prove it was me.”

 

Camille’s hands massaged his back rhythmically with the music to soothe the hurtful revelation. Richard noted their “fit” - every part of her touching him felt comfortable and warm and enticing and _right_. Though he wouldn’t trade any of it, he loved her cheek on his chest, in the perfect spot for him to rest his cheek against her forehead - his height advantage working its magic. 

The idea of “compliment” joined his thoughts about her.

 

“Your parents don’t know what you went through at school, how alone you were. They still don’t know what you suffered, all the bullying. It’s why you hide your feelings, why you struggle to express them.”

 

Nat King Cole sang Richard’s life to them.

_“Smile though your heart is aching_

_Smile even though it's breaking ...”_

 

“Your brilliance, your obsessive puzzle solving behavior during an investigation, they come from your challenges growing up. You’ve always been different and the bullies took every chance to remind you of it. They never appreciated your genius. I don’t think most people do; I didn’t, at first, and I’m sorry for that.”

 

A lesser known gem from Nat King Cole’s repertoire started, the theme song from the movie “The Boy With Green Hair”. Richard viewed the movie 17 times because of this song.

“ _There was a boy_

_A very strange enchanted boy_

_They say he wandered very far, very far_

_Over land and sea_

_A little shy and sad of eye_

_But very wise was he..._ ”

 

“You care deeply about people even when you can’t tell them. I’ve seen the way you mentor Fidel. Rosie kisses you which means she wasn’t asleep during all those babysitting sessions. 

“You tell me you’re not a virgin. Any woman you dated before should have become Mrs. Richard Poole because you’re not frivolous with sex, Richard. You won’t sleep with a woman you don’t care deeply for.”

“My girlfriend preferred my, um, roommate... while we were engaged...”

“She was a fool. I know how special you are.”

 

The song changed again. If the RANDOM light on her CD player weren’t glowing at him he’d have accused Camille of staging the playlist. Catherine would give the glory to Erzulie. 

Why, he wondered in alarm, did Catherine come to mind in this situation?.

 “ _Darling, je vous aime beaucoup_

_Je ne sais pas what to do_

_You know you've completely_

_Stolen my heart..."_

 

It’s was the song. It brought everything “French” to his top of mind. Including Catherine.

_"...Wish my french were good enough_

_I'd tell you so much more ..._  

_...Darling, je vous aime beaucoup_

_I love you, yes I do._ ”

 

Camille stopped swaying when the song ended and stepped backwards far enough to get his attention.

 

“I see you, Richard Poole and I will love you even if you don’t love me. You deserve to be loved.

“Have I missed anything, chér?”

“I don’t think anyone’s ever cared enough to pay this much attention to me.”

“I care for you a great deal, Richard. 

 

“So, chér - what do you want to know about me?”


	14. Saturday: 01:35L - Camille's Bedroom

Richard’s attention stole enough cycles from his sexual thoughts to identify the melody coming through the speakers and to surrender to Camille’s gentle tugging of his body towards her bed.

“ _Tall and tan and young and lovely_

_The girl from Ipanema goes walking_

_And when she passes each one she passes goes ahhhh..._

_When she walks it's like a samba_

_That swings so cool and sways so gently_

_That when she passes each one she passes goes ahhh..._ ”

 

He lowered himself onto the bed and stretched out on his back. To his amusement, Camille ogled him again before snuggling tight to him, her body pressed against his side. She absently stroked his chest and torso, confounding Richard’s attempts to interrogate her. If she kept this up, he decided, he couldn’t be blamed if he planted her into the mattress and rode her until they both passed out.

 

“Your life must have been difficult after your father left.”

“It was,” Camille answered from within his arms, “but more for Maman.”

“Dwayne’s new shirt... One of your father’s?”

“No,” Camille responded through instant tears, “that belonged to my fiancé, Robert.”

“I-I-I didn’t know... It’s none of my, you know, business, Camille...”

“Richard, it’s fine... I want to share this with you...” she sighed sadly.

“I met Robert in Paris. He worked for Interpol assigned to the Sûreté. He trained me in long-term deep cover assignments - drug interdictions, arms smuggling, money laundering and human trafficking. Told me I had the look; said he’d buy anything I was selling...

"We worked very closely... fell in love. Seems to be a pattern with me, no?”

“Camille... You don’t have to...”

 

His attempt to spare her remembered pain didn’t penetrate her recall.

 

“We were working a human trafficking assignment, spread out in Africa, France and England. Our cover got blown and he was killed. I got shipped home to recover. Only I survived; we lost the team...

“Anyway, I came back to Saint-Marie and decided to go back into undercover work in the Caribbean. It kept Maman from worrying quite so much.

“I kept a few of Robert’s things. I can give them to Dwayne if it bothers you. I’d quite forgotten I had them until the party.” 

 

Clover green eyes sent compassion her way.

 

“He was important to you. If those items give you comfort, I wouldn’t ask you to dispose of them”

“Thank you.”

 

She’d survived the event; her renewed calm convinced him she would survive the memory as well.

 

“I appreciate the suits -”

“They look good on you, chér.”

“- but I hope there’s not some kind of psychological transference going on. I’m, uh, almost old enough to be your -”

“Shush! You’re not that old! I’ve never had a desire to make love to old men, chér. And that is _exactly_ what I’m hoping will happen - when you’re comfortable.”

 

Richard’s comfort in making love to Camille arrived at the same time she trailed her hand through his chest hair down his stomach and under the waistband of his boxers.

 

 

 

 


	15. Saturday: 02:45L - Camille’s Head

When Camille shifted to spoon into Richard’s back she pinned something lumpy between her leg and the mattress. With mild annoyance at the disruption to a deep, satisfied post-lovemaking sleep, Camille reached under her leg to retrieve the object. Her fingers moved over the shape in the dark to determine where to put it - in seconds she came fully awake and sat up. 

 

She knew what it was and it should’ve been inside her. 

Camille focused in the low light on the cervical cap which sat in her hand and not covering her cervix. 

_A new life is a gift - but please, mon Dieu, not tonight! What will he think!?_

 

Panic at the possibility of a pregnancy from their only time together gradually subsided as she considered the man whose vigorous efforts and sizable assets dislodged the device in the first place. The man toddler Rosie kissed and fed with affection. Taking a page from Richard’s book, Camille made a mental list:

    * She would call her doctor tomorrow and make an appointment for 3-weeks out. If she wasn’t pregnant, she would get a prescription for the pill. Much though she hated the idea of hormones she needed to have control over her own fertility.


    * She would not take the “Morning After” pill. She would not risk their baby. If she were pregnant, she would keep the baby. Richard wouldn’t challenge the child’s paternity. If he asked her to marry him, she would decline until _after_ the baby came to give him time to get past his sense of obligation. An amicable shared custody arrangement would be easy enough.


    * She would move home with her mother if she was pregnant. It would be safer. Of course, Richard might insist on moving in with her here; that possibility brought an unexpected grin.


    * She would clean and reinsert the device later rather than send Richard for condoms or forego further love-making this weekend. Some extra spermicide should “cement” it in place and if it came out again, the spermicide would handle Richard’s “swimmers”. She hoped.



Sitting the cap on its container on her nightstand, Camille curled against Richard’s back, laying an arm over his side and across his stomach. Based on his exhausted collapse after their first efforts, she doubted he’d wake before afternoon. She slept without further concern.

Thirty minutes later, as he returned from using the loo, Richard contemplated why Camille’s contraceptive device sat on the nightstand unused. On his return to Saint-Marie, SOCA’s plan for him significantly altered his thinking about their future. 

SOCA’s plan started with his murder. 

If it wasn’t executed to perfection, that step in the SOCA plan might make his “death” a permanent condition.

After due consideration he decided that if Camille wanted a child now, he would make the effort to give her one while he could. It would make proposing to her less daunting. His limited data indicated most pregnant women said “Yes” when the baby-daddy proposed.

Spooning behind her, he let her sleep another 30 minutes before engaging in procreative love-making.


	16. Saturday: 03:30L - Camille’s Body

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is ***AT LEAST RATED M***. Skip it if that bothers you. You can still figure out what’s happening. YOU'VE BEEN WARNED.

**RATINGS WARNING!**

 

THIS CHAPTER **RATED** M \- **Read** on at your **OWN** **RISK**!

 

**RATINGS WARNING!**

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

His fingertips ran down her side to the full extension of his arm. Spooned tightly against her he needed no further stimulation. But he’d decided that a decision of this heft deserved a gentle ongoing crescendo and not a frantic rush to fulfillment. Commitment - to her body, to her heart - required time and effort and he would give her that. 

His fingers found their way to her abdomen, stroking the taut skin with delicate touches. Richard considered the hundreds of hours he would do this if Camille conceived. During an investigation in London he’d learned that creams and emollients could reduce stretch marks. His own belly shook with laughter - Camille loved bikinis; stretch mark prevention would mandate an all-out assault with the creams. 

He cupped her breast and Camille made the “Mmmm...” sound that sent him mad. She did not wake, though, as he teased her nipples between his thumb and index finger. She probably thought she was having dream sex. She would wake and enthusiastically join him soon enough.

Once again the thought occurred that he should wake her and confirm the significance of the contraceptive device’s present location. 

If he did that, though, Camille would accuse him of being dense and lacking in spontaneity. If she intended to prevent conception her protection wouldn’t be sitting in full view, it would be inside of her. Waking her to ask would absolutely ruin his plan for round 2 of the weekend’s activities and anger her - a definite arousal killer.

No, he concluded, all evidence indicated that the visible cup was Camille's subtle way of telling him that she’d arrived at this point in their relationship well ahead of him. 

 

Which, after more than two years with her, is what he would have expected so his conclusion was probably correct.

 

With that resolved, Richard applied himself to achieving her desired result. 

 

Gliding his hand down the light sheen of perspiration on her stomach he came to her thigh and gently lifted her upper leg back onto his own. This maneuver opened her to his fingers which found the damp space between her legs. With barely-there touches, Richard parted the soft, downy cover and began more feathery fondling of the sensitive skin underneath. Despite the distraction of her movements underneath him the first time, he had managed to catalogue some of her preferred stimulation areas.

With infinite deliberation Richard paid careful attention to her satisfaction. From behind her, he kept himself contented with small, rolling hip movements into the flesh of her bottom. He’d be ready when Camille was and not before, and he’d ride her passion out until she was done with him. He let her vocal responses guide his decisions and actions.

When the first crescendo overwhelmed her, he paused only long enough to guide himself into that place he now considered home and returned his hand to her bud in time to sustain her release. He allowed himself to impale her little by little, enjoying each quiver, each contraction of her muscles around him. Sunk to his hilt within her, he brought her again to a crescendo that had never truly ended. Her hips moved her backwards along his shaft; she was awake.

Relieved of the necessity of working against gravity, Richard’s stamina impressed. Easy, deep strokes of his hand and his shaft kept her on point until that power her body had over his brought the potential gift of life to her from him. Taking their time had an unexpected benefit: Richard produced and delivered more than he thought possible. 

 

When his brain worked again, the thought arose that she would always get the best out of him.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	17. Saturday: 04:42L - Camille’s Heart

“Oh my God! Richard, tu es un amant incroyable [you are an incredible lover]! Don’t _ever_ call yourself an old man again.”

“I will and I am. Right now all I want to do is sleep.”

“I think we might need to discuss what just happened.”

“Why?”

“Because, chér, my cervical cap is nowhere near my cervix.”

“I know. I saw it on your night table.”

“You saw it? Why didn’t you wake me - I would have put it in before you ravished me.”

 

Confusion and anxiety crushed Richard like a penthouse lift dropping 30 floors with no brakes.

 

“I thought you left it out purposefully. It wasn’t on the nightstand before... the first time.”

 

Camille chuckled to herself. Not once but **_twice_** in three hours her well-planned contraceptive approach failed miserably. Another "memorable" first date experience with Richard.  She wondered if her mother was at the church right now praying up a grand-child.

 

“That’s because you dislodged it and it came out. Apparently you needed more room. I didn’t anticipate such a quick recovery from an ‘old man’ so I left it on the nightstand until the next time we made love.”

“You aren’t trying to conceive?”

“I hadn’t planned to. Most men would consider making a baby on a first date entrapment.”

“I AM a right CLOT! I’ve bollocks’d EVERYthing! This will impact your life, your career... I am SUCH a BLOODY IDIOT!”

 

Moonlight reflected in his sorrowful eyes.

 _Bugger, I’ve just turned myself into a one-off!_ Richard upbraided himself. 

 

“Camille... I.. I’m... Whatever you want to do, I’ll support you. It’s your body and I’ve violated you.”

 

To his further dismay, she began to laugh, rolling him into her arms to comfort him.

 

“Let’s not panic just yet. I use a spermicide in the cup, to keep it in place and to catch any over-achievers. We’re probably fine.”

“It’s your choice, Camille, if you’re... Whatever you decide... I won’t make any demands of you. I’ll take care of you - you both, if you keep the baby - afterwards.”

 

Camille thanked the God that her mother _wasn’t_ praying to that she’d thought through this situation a couple of hours ahead of him.

 

“I’m Catholic; my decision options are limited. I will not get rid of our baby. And if I deliver my mother's first grand-child and put the baby up for adoption, Maman will adopt you _and_ the baby and leave my body in the hospital after she strangles me. She won't need me anymore.

“Before I say anything else I want to know what you want, Richard.”

“I want whatever you want. I have no right to tell you what to do with your body. -”

“Chér, if I’m pregnant then this is your baby too. What do you want?”

“You...” he mumbled while twisting away from her, unable to face the biggest communications error he’d _ever_   committed. 

“Richard, please come back - I can’t hear you. What did you say?”

 

Facing her, the hardest thing he’d done since Doug Anderson's murder case, he answered.

 

“You! The baby! All of it! In a perfect world where I’m not the King Git, that’s what I want!” 

“I don’t want your pity or your _English_ chivalry. You’re not obligated to this. Maman managed with me and I will do the same. Will you be upset if I am pregnant?”

 

Richard peered at the sheets his hands were unconsciously bunching and releasing. He never knew what to do with his hands in awkward situations like this one.

 

“Once I thought I wasn’t a one-off, you know, I was hoping it might happen some time. That you’d want one... with me. Present for me, perhaps? Of course, that’s when I thought we _both_ wanted you pregnant, git that I am.”

“Then we’ll wait and see. And if I’m not pregnant, we’ll take our time. I’d like to plan my pregnancy. And I want to be married _first_.”

 

With a quick kiss, Camille rolled away from him and made to get out of bed.

 

“Where are you going?” he asked petulantly.

“To put that cap - with a healthy dose of spermicide - back where it will work.  I don’t trust you, Old Man!”


	18. Saturday: 11:05L - Camille’s Living Area

Richard left the bedroom quietly so as not to disturb Camille. In the last 12 hours he’d learned she required more sleep after sex than he did, a fact that boosted his manly pride in himself. While he acknowledged it was probably too soon to blame such fatigue on pregnancy he allowed himself a bit of hope that soon it might be so. He hoped she'd be more agreeable and less combative whilst carrying their baby for the baby's sake.

 

Removing the cell from the end table he dialed a call to England, reclining on Camille’s couch as the sun outside her window lazily made its way up towards it’s high point from the horizon.

 

“Mum? It’s Richard.”

 

Her enthusiastic response forced Richard to snatch the phone away from his ear momentarily to protect his hearing.

 

“Yes, yes. I made it home safely. I’m sorry I didn’t call last night - the team had a Welcome Home party for me and what with the time lag and all I’ve been sleeping at all hours.”

_With Camille and because of Camille_

 

“How is everyone? Nothing to report. As I said I’ve got a top notch team here - handled everything.”

_I missed the team and Saint-Marie. More than I expected._

 

“Camille? She’s fine. She had a bit of excitement running the station, nothing she couldn’t handle. She’s quite something...”

_Why is my mother asking so many questions about Camille???_

 

“What’s that you say? Mum, Camille’s a colleague!”

 _She thinks we’re in love! How do mothers _ **_do_ ** _that?_

 

“Yes, yes I know you remember. I’ll be careful, Mum.”

 _Camille isn’t Barbara; without a doubt, she won’t hurt me **that** way_.

 

“You’re right; Camille is special, Mum. Uh, no... she's not... available... right now.”

_I wonder if Mum’s figured it out? Probably love being a grandmother..._

 

“Alright, alright! I’ll send you a picture.”

 _Camille will kill me if I send the wrong picture_. _Better ask her for one when she wakes up_.

 

“I think it’s a bit early to introduce you by email. Mum - don’t do that! It’s c-b-o-r-d-e-y at r-s-m-p-f dot g-o-v dot u-k.”

 

He’d have to warn Camille that Poole family correspondence would be arriving soon.

 

“I’ll tell her, Mum, I promise.”

_Don’t know how Mum knew but I’m glad that’s done. I’ll let her tell Dad._

 

“G’night, Mum. Love you.”

 

Frowning in puzzlement at his mother's delighted - and _uncharacteristic_ \- laughter, Richard replaced the phone on the table as he headed for the bedroom. He immediately recognized his error:

 

He'd called his mother from Camille's cell.


	19. Saturday: 13:10L L - Camille’s Front Door

Camille’s foggy brain complained that she’d just fallen asleep. All the talking and dancing and - eventually - love-making and talking again led to a state of pleasant exhaustion she’d not experienced since her time with the late Robert. 

But the door wouldn’t answer itself and Camille didn’t want Richard to get up. Of the many firsts they’d experienced together in the last 16 hours, one spiced up her view right now - Richard asleep in the nude. She’d thought it impossible to get him to sleep without pyjamas or underwear.

Digging out her underwear from the pile of discarded clothes on the floor, Camille grabbed Richard’s shirt from the back of the chair and padded to the front door. Having trained with French and international police forces and not the English Met, Camille always considered whether to retrieve her sidearm before opening the door. 

Her last deep cover assignment before returning to the Caribbean started with a knock on the door and a gunshot to her midsection. The memory of the assault and her fiancée’s death on the same assignment delayed her; she retrieved her sidearm from its hiding place and chambered the first round.  

Camille concealed the weapon behind her and approached the door from the side.

 

“‘ello?”

“Camille! I have the Chief’s luggage! Hurry, girl, I have to be at Isabel’s in 15 minutes!”

“Un moment” came through in French.

 

Camille stashed the gun in the fridge before opening the door for Dwayne. She’d worn less on the beach but somehow the slightly visible knickers and men’s shirt outfit got Dwayne’s attention for the first time since he’d known her.

 

“Camille - put some clothes on, girl, before I assault a superior officer! No wonder the Chief walks around confused and stuttering.”

 

Now it was Camille’s turn to flush. Her typically French attitude towards exposing her beautiful body gave rise to a bit of embarrassment as Dwayne admired her. The assessment ended as quickly as it had begun and brotherly Dwayne explained his presence.

 

“Commissioner called your mother about the Chief’s luggage. Catherine asked me to deliver it; said she didn’t want to disturb any progress towards a grand-baby.”

 

Twice in ten minutes Camille blushed. That project might be under construction.

 

“Take this!” he instructed as he stepped inside her door, “Chief won’t have to trot around all weekend in his birthday suit - not that you’d mind.”

“Dwayne!”

 

Dwayne sent a “You **_know_** I’m right” look in Camille’s direction while he squeezed her arm.

 

“I’m happy for you both. I can go back to attending the ladies of Saint-Marie and Catherine can stop working me to death. I bet she makes me pay my bar bill now. You know your mother.”

 

Dwayne headed for the door having completed his task. 

 

“I’ll see you later, Camille. Tell the Chief he better keep an eye on you.

“By the way - his shirt looks better on you.”

 

The door closed behind Dwayne to her laughter.

 


	20. Saturday: 14:20L - Somewhere Else on Saint-Marie

The priest at the church woke the zealous worshipper sleeping fitfully on the first pew, suggesting softly that more than enough praying and candle lighting had occurred over the last 17 hours. God, the priest said compassionately, understands the need for rest. 

The worshipper thanked the priest and said the final prayer of the marathon session. Genuflecting while making the cross, the worshipper lit a final candle and stepped into the late afternoon light. 

* * *

At the corner, Catherine Bordey blanched abruptly and immediately sent one more prayer upward:

 

“Please, mon Dieu, don’t let Richard discover that God understands the need for rest. 

“At least not this weekend.”


	21. Sunday: 12:30L - Camille's Bedroom and Living Area

Without a doubt, Richard had never experienced fulfillment or satisfaction like that he’d shared with Camille. This morning Camille prepared a sumptuous breakfast that lasted three hours thanks to many interruptions leading to the bedroom or the couch... or the kitchen table. Richard appreciated Camille’s preparation - she’d set up breakfast buffet style on the counter leaving the table free for... other uses.

Halfway through their last full day together, Richard drifted off as Camille spoke to someone on the phone.

 

_Oui - I have. Laissez-moi savoir si vous ne trouvez pas leur. [Let me know if you can’t find them]._

 

Time passed behind Richard’s eyes as he dozed. Camille's words were heard but not understood through the closed bedroom door.

 

_I’m not sure...._

 

_I hope so. Nous allons voir [We’ll see]..._

 

_Tomorrow? Bon! Adieu._

 

Richard roused to Camille’s weight climbing into the bed on top of him. Spreading his legs, eyes partly closed, he grinned as she lowered her lithe, naked body onto his. She sought sleep now and he welcomed her into his arms.

Curiosity spurred him to ask about her phone conversation. Their new relationship apparently included more communications with mothers. More likely impending parenthood motivated them to seek out experienced counsel. Richard diagnosed his own semi-confession to his mother as temporary insanity caused by extreme sexual satisfaction. Camille sharing the possibility of a grandchild with Catherine made sense; mother and daughter were very close.  

Whatever the source of the maternal bonding, Camille’s soft, even breathing meant he’d missed his chance for an inquiry. Inching his arms down the bed RIchard pulled the sheet over them both for a nap.

 

Starting tomorrow he committed to making a concerted effort to improve his relationship with Catherine; very soon they could all be family.


	22. Monday: 0910L - Honorè RSMP Station

In the station kitchen making his morning tea, the open freezer door obscured his view but did not block the sound of laughter. Camille and Fidel found something worth chortling about. 

Too pleased at being back and too nervous about the SOCA training he would start later that evening, Richard did not analyze his team’s current behavior; instead, he processed their mirth as a sign that the changes to come would be handled without too much disruption. A weekend spent in bed with Camille worked wonders as a relaxant for British uptightness.

It was Fidel’s exclamatory question that turned Richard beet red and accelerated his feet towards Camille and her computer:

 

“Is that the Chief as a baby!?”

 

Dwayne’s question pushed Richard into high gear.

 

“His mother sent those? Cute kid - what happened?”

 

Richard skidded to a stop in front of Camille’s desk, embarrassment covering him in perspiration despite his new lighter-weight suit. He stared at her. 

Suddenly Camille's phone conversation yesterday made sense: Helen Poole spoke passable French. Camille and his mother no longer needed an introduction or an intermediary.

 

“Look at those chubby cheeks!” Camille gushed, stroking the image on the display with a soft finger as if it were real.

 

Dwayne cut a look at Camille before asking clarification.

 

“Which ones?”

 

The comment shocked Richard who gawked in horror as the entire Royal Saint-Marie Police Force critiqued his naked baby bottom. Along with his boss, the Commissioner, who entered the station with a fantastic view of the unclothed infant on Camille’s screen.

 

“Is that the Inspector? Quite a dashing figure.” the Commissioner remarked.

“As I see you are busy, I’ll drop in later.” the Commissioner finished, doffing his cap and sending a quick nod Camille’s way. 

 

Selwyn Patterson made a beeline to his office. Camille viewing baby pictures could only mean one thing and he intended to make _sure_ he updated Catherine that success approached at a rapid pace. A man married 34 years with nine children would not mistake the signs. 

After the Commissioner’s comments, Dwayne counted every blood vessel popping out on his speechless Chief’s face and neck. When the number hit 20, Dwayne decided, he’d call the medics.

Camille sent a sweet grin Richard's way, letting him know she’d be fine with whatever they found out in three weeks. And she agreed with Dwayne that Mr. Grumpy had been a very adorable infant. A dreamy look spread over her features.  

 

He read a kind of serenity in her acceptance of their future - and maybe hope.

 

Richard, however, experienced none of her tranquility; he fully expected the next three weeks to age him _years_.

 

 _Finis \- “_ **It’s Only ‘til Friday** \- **Back on Friday: The Return** _”_


End file.
